


I Don't Wanna Die (But Baby, You Insisted)

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Gun Kink, Immortals, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kinda, M/M, Murder Kink, Object Insertion, Russian Roulette, Threats as Dirty Talk, Threats of Violence, alternative title: lleyton reads to many fahc fics, ask to tag, but seriously this is like. kind of fucked up so. be careful, fear kink, it's mentioned - Freeform, its in like one line but, kinda???? in the most round-about way, ok so, whew boy this sure is a piece of fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 18:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18504445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Seth finds Finn on his knees, head tilted down. He’s at the foot of the bed, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and no shirt. It’s a pretty sight, one that Seth wishes he could appreciate better, but something’s….wrong.





	I Don't Wanna Die (But Baby, You Insisted)

Seth is  _ tired. _

They’ve been running jobs for almost a week straight, trying to fuck up all the safehouses and stockpiles they know that the Authority has around the city. He’s bruised, battered, and he’s already died three times in as many days. He’s got a headache strong enough to resist all the pain meds and drugs he’s taken, and all he wants to do is fucking  _ sleep _ .

The safehouse they’re holed up in is one of the smaller ones, scarcely furnitured and decorated in a way that shows how little they use it, how little this is a  _ home _ . There’s a mean draft coming through the windows, the floor creaks whenever they move and even when they don’t, and none of the doors lock. It’s a far cry from the apartment they share.

The faulty locks are why he’s in this fucking mess anyway.

He goes to enter the second bedroom, knows the draft is a little bit worse in the room he’s been in. He’s exhausted, hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in  _ months _ , too busy planning or working a job or trying to deal with the repercussions of planning and jobs. He just wants to sleep, but apparently, he can never get his way.

He finds Finn on his knees, head tilted down. He’s at the foot of the bed, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and no shirt. It’s a pretty sight, one that Seth wishes he could appreciate better, but something’s…. _ wrong _ . 

Finn’s hands are zip tied behind his back, the plastic pulled too tight, enough to bite pale tracks into his wrists, splitting the top few layers of skin. The skin is  _ red _ , almost like Finn’s been trying to get out of them. There’s emotion darkening his eyes, but it looks like  _ fear _ more than anything else. His chest is heaving with his breaths. Seth realizes with a jolt that Finn is supposed to be running recon right now.

Seth can only watch, captive, as Dean enters his line of sight. He’s in his jeans, his revolver strapped to his thigh. It’s been years since Seth’s seen that gun, had thought Dean had gotten rid of it. It was impractical in the field, especially compared to the semi-automatics and APs they have. It’s an antique, a relic from Dean’s old life, from his life  _ before. _

Dean sits on the foot of the bed, legs spread wide to an indecent extent, Finn settled between his thighs. He pushes his foot against Finn’s chest and shifts his weight in it. Finn leans back against it, crying out sharply as the change in the angle of his spine puts weight against his bound wrists, which bend at an awkward angle. When Dean removes his foot, the tread of his boot is imprinted on Finn’s pale chest.

“You’ve been causing some trouble, huh?” Dean’s words are nothing more than a  _ purr _ , low and obscene in the back of his throat. His hand comes to tilt Finn’s chin up, makes the older man meet his gaze. The fear-stricken look on Finn’s face makes Seth’s stomach roll uneasily. Dean’s grin, dark and predatory, doesn’t help.

“Tell you what,” Dean says, leaning back casually. His hand drifts down his bare chest, skates the bulge in his jeans, and grabs his gun. He slides it out of the holster and holds it in the soft lamplight. Finn’s eyes follow it, follow the line of Dean’s fingers as he strokes the barrel almost lovingly. 

“If you put on a nice show for me, like a good little boy,” Finn shivers, eyes fluttering for a second before opening again, “Then maybe I won’t redecorate the wallpaper with your brain.” Dean murmurs it like it’s pillow talk, something dirty in all the right ways instead of a threat.

Dean traces the muzzle against the soft skin of Finn’s lips. Finn jumps, either from the cold of the metal or the fright, his chest heaving. He gasps, a sweet little sound, and Dean takes the opportunity to press the gun into his mouth.

Seth almost stops them, has one foot into the doorway by the time the barrel has slid into Finn’s mouth. His heart is hammering in his chest, panic heavy and thick in his stomach. He trusts Dean, has always trusted Dean, but he’s not sure he could trust anyone to shove a gun into his friend’s mouth.

But then Seth looks-  _ really looks. _ Finn’s hard in his pajama pants, though Dean has his boot planted over Finn’s crotch. His hands are flexing like he wants to grab, but he isn’t pulling himself free like Seth knows he can. Finn’s throat is working, the soft underside of his jaw moving as he laves against the barrel of the gun. His lips are pressed tight against the metal, and when Dean pulls the gun out slightly, the barrel shines with saliva.

Dean fucks Finn’s mouth with the gun, a leisurely pace that still leaves Finn gagging. Dean’s smile is no less dark, but he’s flushed as he stares at Finn’s mouth. The Irishman’s eyes are wet, tears tracking down his reddening face. He’s holding eye contact with Dean whenever he looks away from Finn’s mouth, drool spilling onto Finn’s chest.

Seth’s got probably the most confusing boner of his life, and that’s  _ before  _ Dean pulls the trigger.

Finn  _ whines, _ low in his throat. His cock twitches visibly in his pants, his breath coming in sharp pants that leave his chest heaving. His hands jerk, like he wants to grab something, to grab Dean to get free. 

Dean’s hand is shaking as he slowly pulls the revolver out of Finn’s mouth. The foresight clacks against Finn’s teeth, and the sound is so  _ loud _ in the quiet room. Dean’s words are even louder, voice like gravel as he confesses, “There’s only one bullet in here, but I don’t know which chamber.” 

Finn moans, loud and unabashed. He drops his head against Dean’s knee and tries to catch his breath, mouthing at the skin exposed by the tear in Dean’s jeans. Dean’s hand comes to rest on the back of Finn’s head, fingers digging into Finn’s scalp.

The younger man pushes the muzzle of the gun against Finn’s temple, drags him up by his hair. Finn’s fingers flex, his red, abused mouth parting around the breathy noises he makes.

Dean unbuttons his jeans with one hand, fingers shaking. “If you do a good job sucking my cock,” Finn whimpers, tongue coming to wet his bruised lips, “Then I’ll fuck you with this.” He nudges the gun harder against the side of Finn’s head.

“Fuck, please, please, let me.” Finn pants, looking up at Dean with tear-blurry eyes. His voice is  _ wrecked _ , rough and uneven and breathy, like he’s been on his knees all day. There’s a desperation to him as he mouths at Dean’s cock, his body trembling with fear, or arousal, or a sick mixture of both.

“Go on, suck my cock like a good little bitch.” Dean breathes, sliding his boxers down past his cock. Finn can’t get his mouth on Dean fast enough, practically choking himself in his eagerness to suck Dean off. Dean tosses his head back, revealing the long line of his throat. 

Seth has a hand shoved in his pants before he can register his actions.

This is something he knows, something familiar. He’s seen Finn blow people more times than he can count, has seen Dean getting his cock sucked enough times to know all the little noises he makes down to a T. He tells himself that this is something  _ safe _ to find attractive. If he doesn’t look at it, he can almost forget Dean’s holding a loaded gun to Finn’s head.

Finn’s making choked off noises around Dean, moans and whimpers and what could be half-assed attempts at pleading. Dean keeps his cock buried in Finn’s throat, only pulling back when Finn’s face gets  _ red _ and his breathing goes a little too uneven. A hand fists itself into the hair at the crown of Finn’s head, using it to drag him on Dean’s dick.

Dean brushes Finn’s bangs from his face with the muzzle of the gun, dragging the metal across his skin in a sick approximation of a caress. He stops to dig the gun into Finn’s cheek where it’s bugling from Dean’s cock. Finn makes a noise that would be so close to a moan if it weren’t for the whine of fear to his vocalization. Dean slides the gun to rest under Finn’s eye, just barely pushing against the socket.

“I could kill you right now. Pull the trigger and spray your brains against the wall.” Dean’s voice is nothing more than a murmur, cloyingly sweet. “You’d let me, too, let me keep fucking your throat even after the life leaves you. You’d probably come back hard and aching for it.” His free hand traces the side of Finn’s neck, voice and touch so soft, so  _ gentle _ , compared to his words.

Finn lurches forwards, gags himself on Dean’s cock. His hips are stuttering up against Dean’s boot, whining in the back of his throat whenever his throat is vacant enough to allow it. 

Dean pulls Finn off his cock by the hair, pushing his boot down a bit harder. Finn cries out at the pain, pulsing his hips up against the treads again. He digs the gun under Finn’s jaw, foresight pressed to the inside of his jawbone. Finn pants, tongue hanging from his mouth, saliva pooling on his chest as it drips from his tongue.

Dean pulls the trigger.

_ Click _ .

Finn almost collapses, body sagging against Dean’s leg. They sit there for a moment, quiet, and Seth almost thinks they’re finished despite the fact neither has come.

But then Dean shoves Finn, pushes him onto his back and rolls him to his front with an unpulled kick. Finn goes easy, clenches his hands into fists, settling on his knees with his face pressed to the rough rug.

Dean settles behind him, easing Finn’s pajama pants down past the swell of his ass. Finn’s already stretched, practically  _ dripping _ with lube. Seth’s mouth goes dry at the thought of Finn stretching himself for  _ this _ .

Dean runs the gun down the line of Finn’s spine, drawing short, shuddery breaths from the older man. Seth can see Finn’s cock, can see it practically dripping precome, hard between his legs. 

The hand on Seth’s cock jerks when Dean pushes the gun into Finn.

It shouldn’t be hot, shouldn’t make Seth’s knees weak. But it does, the sight of the barrel shoving into Finn’s ass makes him almost moan. He rolls his hips against his fist, sagging against the doorframe.

Finn’s pushing himself back to each thrust, thighs flexing as he moves. He’s clenching around the metal, the movement of the muscle visible even across the room. He’s moaning, desperate sounds Seth’s never even  _ heard _ before.

“You’ve got a one in four chance of there being a bullet in the chamber. Wanna take that bet?” Dean breathes, skating a hand down the slope of Finn’s back. He grips Finn’s neck and shoves him down harder, twisting his other wrist to change the angle of his gun.

“Fuck, fuck, please, please, do it. Pull the trigger.” Finn  _ sobs _ , body trembling. Dean cocks the hammer, the sound loud in the room, even compared to Finn’s shaky, wet moans.

Dean yanks the trigger.

_ Click. _

Finn sobs, hands twisting restlessly. His wrist is bleeding, the zip tie having cut into the thin skin. His face is a mess, skin flushed, tears tracking down his face, drool spilling from his  _ red _ lips, eyes blown wide and unseeing.

“One in three.” Mumbled like a prayer, like a confession, like penance. Dean pulls the trigger again.

_ Click _ .

“One in two.” It’s a whisper, almost lost over the shattered sobs forced out of Finn’s chest every time he breathes. His dick is dripping, ass clenching desperately around the gun. Dean’s not even really fucking him with it, just pulsing it in short, quick stabs, likely focused on Finn’s prostate.

_ Click _ .

Finn  _ comes _ , bawling his eyes out. It’s a gutwrenching sound, and it shouldn’t make Seth’s dick twitch, but it  _ does _ and Seth has never been more ashamed in his life.

Dean yanks the gun out, tosses it across the room. It clatters somewhere, unseen and uncared for by the men in the room. He shoves his way into Finn’s ass, fucks him in quick, rough strokes. Finn’s still shaking, still sobbing, even with the weight of Dean draped across the back. He has to be overstimulated, dick twitching as it fruitlessly tries to get hard again.

Dean doesn’t last long, comes in Finn’s ass with a low groan. When he pulls out, Finn collapses, knees buckling underneath him. A mixture of cum and lube trickles from Finn’s ass, follows the line of his raphe to gather at his balls. Dean pushes it back into Finn with the gun, leans over and fixes his mouth to Finn’s ear. “I could still fucking kill you.”

Seth has the most confusing orgasm of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tonyknees on Tumblr! Come bug me!  
> Title credit to Mother Murder by Hollywood Undead


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